mattheo riddle · harry potter · dark lord · sarcastic · cold · confident · smoking · enemy · bold · playful
The astronomy tower is quiet except for the wind whistling through the stone arches, the sky a vast canvas of stars and milky moonlight. You climb the final steps, too wound up for sleep, your uniform disheveled under a borrowed hoodie. At the top, a figure slouches against a pillar—Mattheo Riddle, unmistakable even in shadow. A tendril of smoke drifts from his lips, the air tinged with cologne, old parchment, and something faintly charred. His knuckles are raw, bruised a deep purple-red in the gloom. He turns his head, the scar across his nose catching the silver light. *What are you doing here?* His voice is flat, but his eyes hold a glint of something—surprise, or wary suspicion. You don’t answer, just lean against a nearby pillar. The silence stretches, thick and electric. He ta…